


The Translator

by hawkstout, varevare (varebanos)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Business AU, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkstout/pseuds/hawkstout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/varebanos/pseuds/varevare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has been sent on assignment as the translator for Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s son and heir. He must help Damian navigate the twists and turns of American business. The problem is Damian has goals beyond the boardroom and Tim finds himself lost in translation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> A co-written project by Hawkstout and Varebanos. Please enjoy!
> 
> English is in _italics_ and flashbacks are in **bold**.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.” 

_“Motherfucker.”_

Tim winced. 

When Bruce had given him this assignment he had been excited. It showed how much his boss trusted him. Damian Wayne was Bruce’s first and only son. Tim would be responsible for translating and guiding the younger Wayne through the world of American business. It was a big step for Tim, a big opportunity… 

And it had been pleasant enough at first. They met at the airport and Tim introduced himself.

“Hello Mr. Wayne. My name is Tim Drake, I’ll be your translator and guide for the duration of your stay here.”

Damian nodded. He was a sharply dressed young man. Expensive suit, expensive haircut, expensive cologne. Tim had done his research beforehand of course. Somewhat brash and arrogant, but top of his class. Graduated early with honours. A lot like Tim actually.

“Your accent’s very minimal,” Damian said approvingly. 

“Thank you, sir. We will be staying at Wayne Towers; I hope it will suit your needs.”

“Very good, Drake.” 

It was clean, it was professional. Tim still wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. 

“My Father had a household that he still has maintained here in Gotham.”

“Ah, Wayne Manor? Would you like your accommodations changed?”

“No, I wish to see it, that’s all.” 

Tim led him to a waiting car and they both climbed in. Damian didn’t talk to him much. Tim mentally shrugged. To be fair he was just a tool for Damian to utilize for communication purposes. 

“So you live here?”

“Most of the time,” Tim nodded surprised by the sudden question. “I go where Mr. Wayne, your father, needs me. Usually it’s as a translator or for brokering deals with English speaking parties.” 

“Do you know a—”

The car stopped.

“A moment Mr. Wayne.” 

Tim frowned, this wasn’t the right entrance. He tapped the window.

_“Sorry, you need to go to the other side.”_

_“My mistake, Mr. Drake.”_

_“Thank you.”_

Tim leaned back and Damian gave him the most incredulous look. 

“You had a question?” He shifted slightly under Damian’s gaze. 

“You obviously don’t spend much time back home,” Damian’s demeanor had gone from neutral to positively frosty. 

“Oh, I do spend a good portion over there as well…” Hadn’t he just said that?

“Perhaps it’s a cultural thing,” Damian shrugged although he didn’t look convinced. Tim had no clue what he was talking about. Before he could clarify they had arrived at their destination. 

It was bad from then on. Every morning he would be greeted with ‘Motherfucker.’ In Damian’s best English—practically his only English other than ‘Idiot,’ ‘son of a bitch,’ ‘asshole,’ ‘moron’ and ‘cereal.’

Which he wanted every morning and would tell Tim off if the chef had the indecency to serve eggs and toast.

* * *

Drake was… an incredibly disrespectful man. 

He had hoped he would be of more use. His father had forced a translator on him and Damian had agreed. His English was minimal and a translator would be needed for the board room, but to have Drake around twenty-four hours a day was almost intolerable. And how hard was it to bring cereal? 

“You have cereal, Mr. Wayne,” Drake protested. He didn’t hide his frustration at the situation well. Damian sneered.

“I don’t eat this kind and it has yoghurt in it. It’s disgusting.”

“The chef simply wants to show you his talents, sir.” Strange that Drake would come to the chef’s defense when he had called him a ‘useless idiot’ an hour earlier when he had ordered Damian’s food. It was no wonder really that the chef kept getting his orders wrong. It was probably on purpose after dealing with Drake’s rudeness.

“Tell him to stop showing his talents and give me what I want, or he’s fired!” He was this close to knocking over the food, but he would not lower himself in front of Drake. 

It wasn’t so much toward the chef. His anger came from having to be here with such an odious man and having to rely on him. He had been content at home doing his business there, but his father had wanted him to see where it all began for Wayne Enterprises… see his father’s homeland. 

He would have protested except he had his own business to attend to in Gotham and pleasing his Father in the process wasn’t a bad thing.

He had phoned already asking that Drake be replaced, but Father refused.

“Tim is the best translator I have and one of the most level headed people I know. He will be an asset to you in America.” 

Asset, yes, right. 

A bowl of cereal was put down in front of him. He looked up at Drake, who looked tired and hurt, like it was Damian who was being difficult.

“Here you are sir, Crocky Crunch, as ordered.” 

“Good,” he quickly turned his attention away from Drake and dug his spoon in the cereal. He felt swept away by the old memories. Laughter and smiles.

**His parents were away a lot when he was young. Grayson was his nanny and for the longest time the only friend he had. When he was ten Grayson was relieved of duty and left to go back to America, back ‘Home.’**

**“But why are you leaving?”**

**“You’re big now Dami. You don’t need me anymore.”**

**“I do. It doesn’t matter that I no longer need bedtime stories and lullabies. Just because I can pour my own cereal now doesn’t mean you have no use to me, Grayson. You… you can be like Pennyworth is to Father. You can stay by my side.”**

**Grayson smiled painfully and hugged him, a gesture Damian rarely allowed anymore.**

**“It’s not my choice.”**

Father had fired him.

He hadn’t known that until he was sixteen. He had been looking through old personnel files when he saw Grayson’s name. ‘Richard Grayson,’ he had almost skimmed by because Grayson had been ‘Dick’ to the butlers and maids. 

Terminated for ‘unacceptable fraternization with a colleague.’ 

Which boiled down to…

Grayson had been in a relationship with someone in the house when it wasn’t allowed for employees to date without informing the employer. 

Damian had lost his first ever friend because of a silly rule in a contract. 

“Mr. Wayne?” 

Drake was looking down at him expectantly like Grayson used to. Drake didn’t remind him of Grayson in the slightest. There was nothing positive about him except his good looks.

Ugh, why did he have to have such an unpleasant personality matched with such a pleasant face? At least he was easy on the eyes…

 _“Ah, thank you,”_ Drake said with a smile as the server took Damian’s dishes away. 

God, telling someone to fuck off with such a perfect smile. It really was unbelievable.


	2. Gray sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A co-written project by Hawkstout and Varebanos. Please enjoy!
> 
> English is in italics and flashbacks are in bold.

The accommodations at the Wayne Towers were pretty satisfactory, even for Damian’s standards. Everything was new, comfortable, and expensive. It was also big enough for Damian to be able to avoid Drake, as long as the other man wasn’t looking for him, so Damian managed to keep more than enough time for himself. As a matter of fact, all that free time should have been an upside, but it only served to make him more and more frustrated as the days passed and he remained unable to find traces of Grayson anywhere in the city.

Searching wasn’t an easy task, especially given that Damian didn’t even know how to say “search” in English and just typed “Richard Grayson” in any place that had anything remotely resembling a magnifying glass next to it. The results were varied, diverse, and had absolutely nothing to do with what he was searching for. They were completely useless, but Damian was convinced the man had to be there somewhere.

**"I kinda miss Gotham," Dick had replied once when Damian asked why was he staring out the window looking so sad.**

**"Gotham?" Three year old Damian scrunched up his nose at the word. "Who is that?"**

**Dick snorted and finally looked away from the window, picking up Damian to set him in his lap.**

**"Gotham is my hometown. It’s hard and it rains a lot, but I miss it."**

**From his spot on Dick’s knee, at a higher vantage point, Damian looked out the window. He could see the sun shining high, the sky a blue as bright and clean as always. It would be perfect for playing in the pool -at least it would be if Damian hadn’t broken his arm trying to do a handstand by himself. He couldn’t even imagine a place like Dick had described, much less understand any kind of longing for it.**

**"You are silly. This is better," he grumbled, unhappy to see his playmate in something other than his usual cheerful mood. "And you can’t go. Stay and play with me."**

**"I won’t be here forever, though," Dick laughed at the sight of Damian’s pout. He stood up, carrying the toddler in his arms. "Come on, it’s time for lunch."**

Damian had forgotten most conversations he had had with Dick about his personal life. They hadn’t had a lot, really. He was only able to remember stupid things, like Dick’s allergies or preferred foods, or outrageous stories about his acrobatic feats, none of which were of any help in finding him.

He had been such a stupid kid.

"Damian, you are supposed to attend a dinner with Mr. Luthor today, if you still want to visit the office we should leave now."

Damian had been so centered in his search that he hadn’t noticed Drake’s knock. He glanced at the older man, upset about being caught off guard -for all he knew, Drake might not have even knocked. It’s not like he was a polite person. He looked perfectly formal and composed, in an immaculate suit waiting by the door, it was hard to even imagine him saying a curse word.

"I’ll go in a minute. Call the car."

Damian started to close all the opened tabs, thinking that maybe he should start searching the obituaries. Drake was talking on the phone behind him.

“ _-yes, thank you, we’ll be there in a couple of minutes._ ”

"Do you seriously have to do that?" Damian interrupted, unable to help himself. "It’s not proper, and I don’t want to have an assistant who acts like that!"

"Like what?" Drake replied, looking dumbfounded. The person at the other end of the line kept speaking, Drake returned to the call with the same manners as before.

"Stop that!" Damian walked towards Drake and snatched the phone out of his hands, throwing it to the ground. "I am not going to allow you to keep speaking like that for as long as you work for me!"

"Excuse me? What in the world is wrong with you?!"

"Am I not being clear enough? Stop being so vulgar when you speak!"

"You’re the one who curses more than talks whenever you use English!"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Damian didn’t recall using an English curse word even once, and he hated how Drake was trying to put the blame on him. "My English is perfectly polite!"

"Then how come I haven’t even heard you say _please_ or _thank you_ ever once?”

"Is that what passes for ‘polite’ in this country? I already told you I do not swear!"

To Damian’s surprise, instead of replying Drake froze and gaped at him. His face slowly lightened in realization, and before Damian could react he started laughing uncontrollably. Damian had never seen him smile sincerely, much less laugh like that, and he had no idea what the cause was.

"Do you find your lack of manners so amusing, Drake?" he asked, trying to save face.

"Oh my God," Drake wheezed, clearly not intimidated by Damian’s tone. "You really speak no English whatsoever, do you?"

Damian, as outraged as he was, couldn’t find any response. He hated his assistant so much at that moment, but-

If Drake was right, it would explain why almost everybody they had met had called them “motherfuckers”, and why everybody kept glaring at him.

He walked past Drake, who was still clutching his stomach and laughing, and didn’t stop until he reached the rooftop. The views of Gotham from there were impressive. Stupid Gotham with its stupid gray skies and its stupid language. There, sure enough nobody would hear, Damian dialed his mother’s assistant’s number. It wasn’t like he had to worry about the price of an international call.

Five tones and some obnoxious music later, someone finally picked up.

"Jason Todd. Talia Wayne is busy at the moment, how can I help you?"

The very professional words were at odds with the sleepy, uninterested voice that said them, but Damian couldn’t care less. It wasn’t an official call.

"Todd, I will end you."


	3. Long distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian tries to get advice from Jason, but Jason isn’t very helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is shown in italics. Flashbacks are in bold.

“Todd, I will end you.”

Jason Todd had been working for his mother since Damian had been a toddler. He had always been a… different sort of employee. He was a loud mouth and always bordered on disrespectful, yet his mother never disciplined him. When Grayson had been fired, Todd filled the space for a time. It hadn’t been the same. Damian had been at Grayson’s hip as long as he could remember and suddenly the person he knew and trusted most was gone, replaced by a strange acquaintance that smelled like cigarettes instead of fresh laundry. The switch from Grayson to Todd was like the mark between childhood and coming of age. No more cereal and silly songs and strange western games and bizarre nonsensical puns. No more stories of heroics and acrobatics that may or may not have been true.

**The first day Todd was rigid.**

**“Has Grayson taken ill?”**

**“No.”**

**Damian felt irked.**

**“It’s not his day off,” He pointed out. On Grayson’s days off he would spend the day with his Mother or Father. Those days were Sunday and Monday. Today was a Wednesday.**

**“No, it’s not,” Jason agreed. He didn’t smile or lean down to Damian’s level, he towered above. Grayson had never felt so tall and far away.**

**“Then where is he?” Damian demanded.**

**“He’s gone.”**

**Damian felt so cold then.**

**He hadn’t… even said goodbye.**

**Todd seemed just as angry as him that day, maybe because he had been saddled with babysitting.**

“How are you little Prince?”

“You bastard.”

“Now, now, that’s not polite.”

“You… you misinformed me!”

“No,” Jason countered, “I was checking if you were doing your English homework. Checked if you knew the difference between go fuck a dog and that tie suits you. This is your punishment for not studying.”

“But you never corrected it!”

“I figured your translator would inform you pretty quickly and that you’d be wise enough to leave it to them, it’s been what? Three days? It took you that long to figure it out?”

Damian’s face burned. He wanted to smash the phone, he felt utterly humiliated. He had no idea what to think of Drake now, nor how many bad impressions he had left among the staff of Wayne Towers.

“I’m taking your silence as a: ‘you’re right Jason, as you always are.’ Okay?”

“SHUT UP.”

He wanted to stay cool, but he was frustrated, frustrated with everything. Drake, Todd, Grayson. Nothing was going his way.

“Jeez, what’s with you, I mean, usually you threaten to have my ass fired, or maim me or something,” Despite not being Grayson, Todd did know him well enough. He had seen the boy through his teenage years on and off as an occasional tutor. Loath as he was to admit it, Todd probably knew him better than Grayson. Grayson knew him as a child, Todd knew him as a man, but everyone has fonder memories of childhood.

“Just shut up.”

“I don’t know why you went there anyway. Gotham’s the worst fucking place in the world.”

“How would you know?” Although Damian couldn’t help but agree.

“Born and raised.”

That was news, although he had never made it a point to know any of Todd’s backstory.

“I thought you worked for mother.”

“Hired by your Dad in old Gotham Town. Old news. Talia liked the cut of my jib, took me on. Bruce and I clashed on brass tacks. ”

It was tenuous, but…

“Did you know Grayson then?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Richard Grayson? He was my nanny when I was a child.”

Damian tapped his foot impatiently. Was he thinking about it or did he get distracted by the cut of someone’s skirt? Why couldn’t he be—

“Todd—?”

“Not—no,” Jason decided. “…Why?”

“I want to find him.”

“He wouldn’t be in Gotham.”

He sounded bitter.

“I thought you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. No one willingly goes back to Gotham. Now if you’re done, I have work to do.”

The phone hung up before he could protest.

He was too angry to dial again.

-

Damian quickly moved out of the breakfast room a horrified look on his face. Tim opened his mouth, but it was too late, Damian was gone and he was pretty sure didn’t want to be followed.

He sunk down into a chair.

So all of it was a misunderstanding? That was good news, but there was no relief on Damian’s face, he looked humiliated and people like Damian don’t take humiliation well.

He fiddled with his cellphone.

What the hell, he had an international plan. He was put on hold and then—

“Jason Todd, go away brat.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fuck—I mean, Jason Todd, Talia’s—okay who is this?”

“It’s Tim, Tim Drake?”

“The Replacement?”

“Uh… yeah,” Tim sighed. Jason really knew how to hold a grudge. Jason at one point was Bruce’s right hand, but they had a falling out. Bruce got rid of him, or fired him. Wayne didn’t take on another person like that until Tim. Jason had been a strange mixture of friendly vitriol ever since.

“Hey, why the hell are you calling at three in the fucking morning?”

“I’m on assignment in the States for Bruce, or rather, Bruce’s son, Damian—”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re the translator? Oh my God, that’s too perfect, if only I could see your face.”

“What are you even—?”

“Never mind, what can I do for you?”

“You’ve worked with Damian before, right? You know him.”

“Eh, as much as anyone can know a Wayne, I guess so,” Tim could hear the shrug on the other end of the line. “Smart, egotistical… obsessive.”

“You don’t sound like you like him.”

“Nah, he’s okay. He’s just one of those entitled little shits—sorta like you…”

“Lay off, Jay.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So he’s entitled?”

“He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted since his birth, what do you expect? Everything—well… not everything,” Jason slowly backpedaled, thinking about something.

“What?”

“Never mind, nothing to do with anything.”

“I just need to know how to approach him. He’s angry at me because of a trick someone played on him and it’s been making my working relationship with him a living Hell. I think we would really get along it we could get past it.” That would be nice. When Damian was in action, actually utilizing Tim as a translator they made a good team, and Damian was dynamic, witty, quick. When he was pleased he would get a little smirk of satisfaction. That all had been overshadowed by his scowls and hateful glares whenever Tim caught his attention, but now maybe that it was all cleared up, Tim could win him over.

“Where in Gotham are you exactly?” Jason interrupted his musings.

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Curious.”

“Wayne Towers, though we might have to move since Damian has unintentionally pissed off the entire staff.”

“You should go with the flow Replacement, and take better care to make sure your boss doesn’t embarrass himself. Remind him he’s there for business not… other things.”

“Why are you being cryptic?”

“I like to keep you on your toes. See you later.”

The line went dead. Tim was too frustrated to redial.


	4. Stuck in the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is shown in italics. Flashbacks are in bold.

It wasn't a sunny day in Gotham -it rarely ever was, but that did nothing to dim Dick's naturally bright mood. Weather aside, it was a nice day for him. There was almost no work to do at the station, just a couple of cases piling up, and now that was definitely a weird sight. Despite all his hard work, it was strange to have a day when Dick could actually think they were doing something useful.

After filling up some paperwork for a small altercation between two old neighbors, he thought it was a moment as good as any other to take his lunch break.

"Hey, Babs, any chance you can lend me that newspaper?" he asked on his way out to the redhead angrily fiddling with the coffee machine.

"It's just the Gotham Finances, are you sure you want it?"

"Sure, I might as well try look fancy for a day."

"Alright, suit yourself," Barbara replied, without taking the eyes from the machine. "Though you are going to get bored."

She had been right, but Dick didn't learn that until he was waiting for his meal in the diner across the street. It was nothing but finances and stocks and acronyms that made no sense whatsoever to him. He flipped through the pages, completely uninterested, until a small press note called his attention.

It was about a Wayne Enterprises representative arriving to Gotham to do... something. Dick couldn't have cared less about it. Just the mention of the name Wayne flooded him with memories. Damian had to be almost a man now, didn't he? With a bitter smile, Dick thought the kid probably didn't even remember him by then. He pushed aside the paper hoping he could push the memories of the other person his mind associated with the Wayne name just as easily.

Hopefully, everything was going well for them both.

\--

Tim still couldn't understand what terrible thing might he have done in a past life to deserve having to deal with Damian in this one. After uncovering the misunderstanding, he had been expecting Damian to be upset, enraged even, but Tim had guessed it'd end with some yelling and some smashing stuff. He didn't expect Damian to simply order him to pack everything and move to the Wayne Manor in an hour.

Because of course Damian wouldn't do his own packing, and he had brought enough suitcases to fit Tim's corpse after dismembering it adequately. He wouldn't even allow anybody but Tim to touch his things.

Though that last part at least Tim could understand, seeing how the whole staff of the tower glared at Damian whenever he walked past them...

Oh. That was it.

"Damian, since I guess you will try to learn some English now, a useful word is _sorry_ ," he told Damian once they were in the car on their way out of Gotham. "It means-"

"I know what _sorry_ means, Drake," Damian practically spat out at him, not looking up from his phone. "I actually studied English some time ago."

Tim blinked, taken by surprise. That was new information for him.

"Really? Why did you stop?" It had to happen quite a while ago, because despite everything Tim knew Damian was intelligent enough not to let himself commit such basic mistakes if he had actually knowledge of the language.

"I said 'some time ago', and that should be enough. I have no desire to relate you my life story."

They spent another couple of minutes in total silence, but they were stuck in the rush hour -Damian apparently hadn't gotten accustomed to Gotham's schedule- and what had Tim to lose?

"You know, English is important in the business world. You could restart your lessons. How long have you spent without studying? Five, six years?"

"Eight years," Damian muttered, his face more somber than ever.

It was empathy with Damian's sadness, and not fear of his anger, what stopped Tim from trying to pry any further. There had to be a story behind that.

Tim's previous theories were all in the trash and burning. Damian, the genius, not being able to grasp English when Tim was fully aware the boy was fluent in Cantonese? The heir of Wayne Enterprises, having studying both Engineering and Economics, not studying his father's native language just because he was lazy?

He felt like an idiot.

"Well, it's never too late!" he added cheerfully, well aware that Damian wouldn't want his mood to be pointed out, and looked away immediately, trying to think of a topic to switch to. Being stuck in the traffic didn't give good conversation topics, though.

Surprisingly, it was Damian the one who spoke next.

"You are my assistant, right?"

Damian looking for reassurance wasn't precisely, and Tim glanced back at him, wondering what was his plan. Because he had to have a plan. There was no way Damian would allow himself to be careless or vulnerable just that easily once again.

"How would you find a person who's not in the white pages?" he continued, not waiting for Tim's reply.

"...um, that depends on what else you know about them." Tim blinked. What kind of question was that?

"I know he's here."

"Here where?"

"Here in Gotham," Damian insisted, stubborn as a mule. Tim was going to lose his patience soon at this rate.

"That's not too specific."

"You don't need to know anything else," Damian replied, glaring at him once again. "Just answer my question."

Tim was starting to get tired of Damian acting all defensive all the time. It was the second time since they got in the car, and Tim knew they had only advanced a mile.

"Does this have anything to do with the whole English lessons thing?"

"It's none of your business."

"Well, if you know nothing but their name, it's going to be hard. You can change it, you know."

"The fact that you can't do anything with that doesn't mean it's hard, it just means you are useless."

Tim glared at Damian, and he was about to say something he might have regretted later on when the driver turned to look at them.

" _I think there was an accident in the intersection, Mr Wayne_ ," he called. " _We are going to be stuck here for a while._ "

Tim let out a noise of dismay, and after translating it to Damian the other boy didn't seem to take the news any better. Tim had been so wrapped up in the discussion he hadn't noticed, but now he saw they had been stuck next to the same coffee shop for the last ten minutes and people were starting to get out of the cars. He knew the intersection, and 'a while' was an understatement.

"Can't we take a taxi?" Damian was asking the driver, looking pretty upset for someone who, unlike Tim, had nothing to do in the whole day.

"I have an idea," Tim interrupted him, and thinking he might as well take a risk, he took hold of Damian's arm and pulled him out of the car after himself.


	5. For One Night Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim helps Damian find a piece of the puzzle.

_“We’ll make our own way there. Take all the luggage, thanks,”_ Tim told the driver. The driver nodded easily and the two young men weaved their way out of the traffic and onto the sidewalk. The smell of muffins and coffee hit Tim, and he was tempted to ask if Damian wanted anything, but he knew instinctively Damian wanted movement, not food. 

Tim scoped the landscape. On their side was the coffee shop on the other was a police station, and all around little shops and a green grocery on the end. 

“What are we doing?” Damian asked. He stood on the sidewalk almost looking vulnerable despite his larger form. He resembled Bruce, and Tim suddenly missed his mentor. Bruce always had a plan, always knew what to do, and when he didn’t his instincts were always good. Tim was never so confident, but he knew how to fake it. 

“It’s your father’s city, Mr. Wayne,” Tim said, “You should get to know it.” 

“I don’t need to—”

“The person you’re looking for,” Tim said, “Maybe they mentioned a place in the city? We could go there.” 

Damian scowled. He folded his arms. Tim felt a rising frustration. Damian said he wanted to find this person, but he didn’t seem willing to put in an effort—

Or put any trust in Tim. 

Tim stepped closer, “We’re partners. And although our beginnings weren’t easy we do make a good team. If you give me a chance, I will help you as best I can.” 

“The only place in Gotham I remember him mentioning moves around,” Damian gave in. 

“Where?” Tim asked.

“Haly’s Circus.” 

**Tim was suddenly six years old. He was in the stands laughing and cheering at the clowns, elephants, performers, but what he was really interested in was the acrobats. He had met a boy a little older than himself, a daring trapeze artist. Tim had been so overwhelmed with all the sights and sounds, he was getting fussy and his parents were thinking of taking him home before the big show in the big top. They met the Flying Graysons, a mom and dad and a little boy, like his own family. The older boy was so confident, and had to be brave to do all those daring feats. They took a picture with Tim and his family, the Drakes and the Graysons.**

**Little Tim was so excited. Dick moved through space with ease. He twirled and flipped. He even did a quadruple summersault.**

**But then it all went wrong.**

**Dick was thrown up and landed safely on the platform. He turned and was about to leap back into his mother’s arms, but she suddenly screamed not to.**

**They fell. They fell—**

**Tim had only eyes for Dick so he watched as his exhilaration and joy turned to terror as he watched his parents fall.**

**Mom covered Tim’s eyes so he wouldn’t see the rest.**

**But he heard the sound of their bodies hitting the ground in between the gasps.**

“Have you heard of it?” Damian asked in agitation. Tim blinked back to the cloudy day on the Gotham pavement. 

“Follow me,” Tim said. He pulled Damian into the coffee shop passing a police officer whose face was obscure by the pile of donuts and coffee he was carrying.

 _“Sorry,”_ Tim said.

 _“No prob,”_ The cop responded. 

“Why are we here? I don’t want coffee!”

Tim silently pointed at the bulletin board. It had been a long shot, but Haly’s Circus was big news when it was in town. There on the board was a brightly coloured poster.

“It says Haly’s Circus, One Night Only,” he told Damian.

Damian seized the poster, ripping it off its tack despite the protest from one of the staff. Damian looked up at him, and Tim was struck suddenly with what Damian looked like when he was happy. His normally narrowed blue eyes widened, and his frown was pulled up into a small smile. There was a surge of confidence and relief. 

He felt a spark of energy between them and thought for a brief moment Damian might kiss him.

-

It was a lead, an actual lead and it was Drake who had found it! Damian clutched the poster and turned to Drake. He wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what he could say. In between the pause he was taken by the other man’s looks. He was so used to Drake’s depressed, frustrated countenance when they were around each other. Now Drake was smiling, looked excited—excited for Damian. He was completely unaware of who or what Damian was looking for, but he still…

“Thank you Drake,” He cleared his throat realizing he had gotten much too close. Everyone was staring at them for the defacement of the café’s bulletin board. It was time to leave. 

They made their way outside again and sunshine broke through the clouds. The first bit of sun Damian had seen since leaving his home. 

It was a sign, a sign of things to come. He would find Grayson at the circus. That had been all he had ever talked about, his life in the air before coming to work for Damian’s father. 

The traffic had cleared. Tim—Drake whistled for a taxi. 

There was no time to waste with the circus being in town for one night only. 

-

Jason did up his seatbelt. It wouldn’t be long until lift off. Talia had given him strong looks, but had given her nod of assent.

**“Trust me Talia the kid’s in bad hands with Drake. Bruce’s translator doesn’t know good-bye from hello. I got a call from both of them at three in the morning, that’s how bad it is. Let me go and straighten all of it out.”**

He looked out the window and watched as the plane lifted off the ground. It would be his first time returning to Gotham since Bruce had found him all those years ago. 

And it would be his first time seeing Dick again… if Dick was even there…

After all these years…

Dick hadn’t wanted to see him. The wound was so fresh then. He had left without saying good-bye and Jason had taken that to mean he didn’t want him anymore. 

But now…

Jason had never forgotten Dick.

And didn’t the saying go that ‘time healed all wounds?’


End file.
